


Sticks and Stings

by Kharasma



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 10:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kharasma/pseuds/Kharasma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three investigators and a tortoise discuss their plans for a run-of-the-mill sting operation. Mini-prequel to 'The Deductionist'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sticks and Stings

**Author's Note:**

> First Elementary fic! I've been working on this one on and off since the episode first aired. The hardest thing for me to work out was whether to use their first or last names in the narrative. I tried a few different approaches before going with all first names except in dialogue. I hope it's not too jarring!
> 
> This is just a silly missing scene attempt. Don't mind me.

For the third time that week, Joan Watson found herself creeping across the floor of the brownstone in preparation for her daily run. She usually liked to walk a little faster to get her blood pumping, but the unexpected complication of their sudden ownership of a pet tortoise had slowed her down.

“Tortoises are simple creatures, Watson. All Clyde requires are three things: food, shelter, and freedom. Just the same as any of us. It would be a sin to keep him confined to such a small cage of glass at all times,” Sherlock had insisted. And so it came to be that Clyde had free reign of the house most of the time, waddling his way down the hallways and doubtlessly leaving little presents in his wake.

Joan intended to cage Clyde herself the moment she found any tortoise droppings strewn about, but Sherlock had done a surprisingly good job of keeping things clean. The tortoise roamed free: for now. She strode to the refrigerator and retrieved her morning carrot sticks, biting one for a satisfying crunch. She loved the water content of carrots, they were refreshing. But that morning, a strange thing happened: before she consciously knew what she was doing, she found herself passing Clyde a small leaf of lettuce as well. He gobbled up his breakfast straight away, as always.

Just as Joan was tying up her hair for her run, the doorbell rang. She started toward it with a frown, but soon found herself facing Sherlock’s back. He checked the visitor’s identity through the peephole, as always, then swung the door open.

“Detective Bell! What a pleasant surprise. What brings you to our humble home?” Sherlock clasped his hands in front of himself, rising up on the balls of his feet. He was clearly anticipating something. His appearance meant tidings from the NYPD. A case? An adventure, clearly.

Marcus pulled his thin jacket tighter around himself, glancing to the left before answering the question. “The captain didn’t like me playing go-between for you while you were suspended, but he still wants to keep his distance. He needs to keep his head in the clear for now. So he thinks I’d be a good messenger.”

Joan appeared behind Sherlock’s shoulder, leaning against the doorframe. “All right. Well come in, Marcus, the wind chill’s pretty brutal,” she invited, gesturing to him with her arm. Her morning run could wait while she figured out what these two were up to.

Sherlock welcomed the detective inside with a wide smile. An almost-appreciative smile stretched across his face as he looked at Detective Bell. “Anyway, messenger, you needn’t worry. We have no reason to shoot you. What information have you come to share?”

Bell shivered even more obviously, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “Shoot me? You’d better not. I’m bulletproof,” he smirked, ignoring Sherlock’s disbelieving look.

Before Sherlock could interrupt with a long tirade about all the ways in which Detective Bell was most certainly not bulletproof, Joan maneuvered herself in between the men and led the way to the kitchen. “Come on, I’ll make you some tea.”

“But do watch your step! There’s a tortoise out on his morning walk. He’s got a hard shell, of course, but stepping on him would be rather unpleasant. For you,” Sherlock called down the hallway at their backs. But overall, he was satisfied with this development. A new case could be the shot of invigoration he needed.

“A tortoise?” Bell asked quizzically, looking over at Sherlock. After a moment, he shook his head. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

Several minutes later, it was clear that the case that Detective Marcus Bell had brought to them was _exactly_ the invigoration Sherlock Holmes needed in his life. He couldn’t contain his delight as he sat at the computer, searching the escort listings for additional clues on their suspects. And they weren’t murderers! Thieves were a refreshing change of pace. “So you’re here to request our help in laying a trap, Detective. You clearly have some experience in this field, so let’s discuss it.”

Sherlock and Marcus proceeded to discuss exactly how it would be best to ensure that the robbers wouldn’t be suspicious about their motives. Marcus had been about to use a newly created account to respond to the advertisement---bad idea. Fortunately, Sherlock had an already prepared throwaway account with a fairly high feedback rating. He began to fill out the form booking their suspects’ services immediately.

“Man, I did _not_ need to know this about you,” Marcus winced, looking away from the screen to avoid the trail of evidence about Sherlock’s previous encounters.

Joan patted Marcus’s shoulder sympathetically. “I wish I could tell you you’ll get used to it, but you really don’t,” she whispered.

“I heard that. I just thought you should be aware,” Sherlock informed them, putting the finishing touches on his request. Joan looked away from Marcus long enough to read it over, then frowned.  It was even more riddled with incomprehensible abbreviations than Sherlock’s usual text messages.

“I know you like shorthand, Sherlock, but are you sure they’re going to be able to read that?” She sighed, taking a bite of her carrot stick.

“Sure,” Bell answered. “They’re standard on these kinds of websites, protects privacy if someone’s monitoring your traffic.”

“Precisely. Maybe there’s real hope for you as a detective after all, Bell,” Sherlock said as he sent his request, reaching across the desk to pet Clyde’s shell. That tortoise always found his way into the most improbable places.

When Sherlock received a positive response from the suspects, Marcus reviewed the details of their revised plan for a sting operation. Tomorrow morning, Sherlock would welcome the suspects and receive the beginnings of a delightfully sexual encounter. In all likelihood he would be handcuffed or tied up in some way, and then Marcus would lead the police in for the arrest. This, Marcus revealed, was the part of the plan that Captain Gregson preferred to know as little about as possible. There were just some things the captain didn’t need to see right now involving his old acquaintance. Unfortunately, Marcus was not being offered the same blissful ignorance.

Sherlock clapped his hands with excitement. “Fantastic. We’ll just draw down the ladder and have me cuffed to it. Watson, you’ll bring the other ladder.”

“So one of us can uncuff you?” Joan asked skeptically, turning her hair pin in her hand. It was a lockpick---at least, that was how she’d now started to see it. Such a thing could be useful to her later on. She’d practiced on a few of Sherlock’s locks while he wasn’t looking---just for curiosity’s sake, of course.

“Of course not. I’m in the running to be the next Harry Houdini. It’s for the suspects’ benefit, just in case we all want to hang high. It’s quite invigorating, you know.”

“Isn’t their goal to rob you blind? I don’t think they want to put in that much effort. They’ll probably go for the chair,” Joan pointed out over her cup of coffee. “Trust me, Sherlock, not everyone thinks you’re God’s gift to women.”

“You threaten to wound my boundless male ego, Watson,” Sherlock responded, turning to Clyde for comfort---a little shell rub usually did the trick for him.

Meanwhile, Marcus found himself rolling his gaze to the ceiling. Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. At least Sherlock wasn’t talking to his turtle in exaggerated babytalk yet?

“I’m most certainly worth being cuffed to a ladder. A fine tortoise like Clyde would happen to agree. Just look at his eyes! He’s adventurous, surely you all can see that!”

…never mind, thought Marcus, taking a sip of his coffee. He had to hand it to Joan: the woman had excellent taste in coffee beans. He caught her eye over his cup and nodded his approval: this was definitely worth coming through the cold for. She smiled back.

When Sherlock was done with fawning over his new favorite magnificent creature, they resumed work. Joan and Marcus eventually managed to convince Sherlock that it was best to be prepared for being chained to the chair. He reluctantly agreed, on the condition that Joan acquire a saw.

“I thought you said you were the next Houdini?” she asked him doubtfully.

“I am! I’d simply like to prepare myself for a few extra magic tricks.”

“I don’t want to know what those are. Anyway…Marcus, you’ll have your guys right outside, right?”

“Right,” Marcus confirmed for her, lifing his hands in a placating gesture. “Don’t worry. We’re not gonna let anything happen to Sherlock. Like it or not, we’re better off having him around.”

“I didn’t say I was worried!” Joan shot back, deliberately ignoring the slow grin that was spreading across Sherlock’s face. “Look, I trust you. I’m going out for my run, okay?”

The men nodded their goodbyes and waved to her. With the fan finalized, Marcus could return to the precinct…but as Sherlock resumed playing with the turtle, there was just one lingering question on his mind. He turned to face Sherlock and Clyde with a slightly worried expression.

“Uh…Sherlock?”

“Yes, detective?”

“Exactly how far do you think the suspects’ll go with you before we can arrest them?”

“Oh, I don’t know, let’s find out! It’ll be an adventure," Sherlock hummed to himself, and Marcus knew he wouldn't be receiving another response that morning. The man was simply too engrossed with cooing over his pet turtle. 

As he called out his goodbyes to Joan and opened the door, Marcus silently hoped that he would be able to rescue Sherlock while the man still had pants on.

 


End file.
